“You did everything right. You’ve made all of us so proud.”
“Really?”
Uncle Freddie patted her arm. “Of course. Things happen that are beyond your control. You gave it everything you had and that’s all you can do. You’ve just got to keep going. That’s what we do. So what’s next?”
Louise had been avoiding thinking about this. It hurt too much to consider. “I don’t know. Mama will probably want me to finish school.” But even as she said the words, she knew she wouldn’t return to the halls of Malden High School. To go back, not ever having gotten a chance at her shot in the Olympics? It was too maddening to consider. How was she supposed to have any hope for the future when she had experienced such a betrayal?
“I understand your anger, I’ve been there too many times to count, but don’t stop because you’re angry. You’ve got to take that anger and use its energy and power to accomplish something good. Stop when you feel you’ve accomplished what you set out to do and you’re ready to try something new. I think you’ve still got more running in you, more great finishes. You’ve got to keep trying and hoping and applying pressure on people to do the right thing.”
Louise stared into the fountain, mesmerized by the falling water. “I’m too mad to think about the future so I’m going to allow myself to be good and angry tonight. No one can take that from me. For the next twelve hours, I’m going to allow myself to feel all of it—my hurt, anger, and disappointment. Then, in the morning, I’ll rise and spend the day smiling and enjoying parties and events that celebrate this team. I’ll be a good girl, a good teammate, but tonight, I get to be angry.”
Uncle Freddie nodded. “Being angry doesn’t make you bad. It shows you’ve got heart.”
Later, after she and Uncle Freddie had said their goodbyes, she passed by the elevator, choosing instead to climb the stairs to her room. Sometimes it felt best to think while she was moving. With each step upward, she turned over what Uncle Freddie had said in the garden. It was easy to believe that the stopwatch was the ultimate decider of who would win the race, but results could be skewed because of things that had nothing to do with running. Rules could be broken. Judges could be wrong. People did not always do the fair thing. Final results were only as reliable as the system that produced them. Louise understood this now.
She reached her floor and paused. Leaning against the railing to let her heart slow and breathing settle, she made a decision. Even though the system was flawed, she refused to give up on it.
CAROLINE AND HOWARD gave Louise and Tidye a ride back to Chicago from California, and from there, Louise took the train home to Massachusetts. She arrived at the platform in Malden on an afternoon thick with humidity and spotted Papa in the crowd, his gaze roving the disembarking passengers for her. In the six weeks that she had been gone, he had changed. He looked like a parched houseplant. Brittle, drooping, and leached of color. She hurried off the train and was swept into his arms.
She hoped to keep her voice upbeat. “I’ve missed you. How are you?”
“It’s good to have our champion back. Welcome home.” He ran his hand along her cheek, as if he couldn’t believe she was there. “How was California?”
Louise bit the inside of her mouth. She had known she would be asked this question, and during the long trip across the country, she’d thought of a thousand different ways to answer it. In the end she had settled on an answer that told the truth without dredging up all the pain she still carried. “I learned a lot.”
Papa’s eyes narrowed. He knew her too well to accept that answer at face value, but before he could prod for more, she asked, “Where’s Mama? Junior didn’t come?”
Papa reached for Louise’s valise. “Come now, Dr. Conway let me borrow his car as a special occasion.”
Something was wrong. Where was everyone? She wanted to ask more questions, but Papa had moved ahead, his chin down as if pushing into a headwind. She followed.
Once they were settled into the car, Papa rested his hands on the wheel, but didn’t start the motor. “Louise, I’m afraid I have some bad news. We received a telegram from California four days ago. Uncle Freddie was in an accident.”
“What? I don’t understand. I just saw him in California.”
“He was in an automobile accident. There was a storm and the roads were slick and—” He shook his head. “He didn’t survive. Your mother is devastated.”
Louise couldn’t bring herself to imagine Mama’s reaction to the loss of her brother. Why had she wasted her last few minutes with Uncle Freddie feeling sorry for herself? Why hadn’t they gone to the beach and marveled at the Pacific? Why hadn’t she seen the airplanes he was helping to build? She should have asked him more questions about his life. She could still feel the pressure of his leg against hers on the bench behind the Chapman Park Hotel, the way he had looked into her eyes and told her to keep running.
Breathless, she snapped open her purse on her lap, rummaging through it to find the photo, the picture of him in Europe. She held it up and studied the two men gazing into the camera, their expressions solemn yet expectant, youthful. Everything about their posture told her what she needed to know. Their straight backs, their air of sophistication. The handsomeness of their uniforms. They had served their country regardless of how they were treated. They had persevered, and they had done it with pride, not to mention a sense of style.
Louise hid her tears by turning to look out the window. Houses, storefronts, and elm trees blurred past. She would make Uncle Freddie’s sacrifice mean something. She would persevere in her own way. She would keep running. In four more years, there would be another Olympics.
28.
November 1932
Chicago
BETTY SLOGGED AWAY AT HER EXERCISES THROUGHOUT the fall. Her world had shrunk to the front parlor, the kitchen, the bathroom, and her bedroom. She wanted to get out, but leaving the house in her wheelchair? Demoralizing. She missed school with a sadness that would have been inconceivable to her before the plane crash. Why had she complained about homework? About her training schedule? Since returning home from the hospital, she considered a good day to be one she could make it through without crying.
One November weekend, Bill visited and she smelled the dampness of fall’s wet leaves and cool weather on his wool jacket as he bent over to kiss her. “It’s a beautiful afternoon outside and the sun feels marvelous,” he said. “Want me to take you out for a spin around the block?”
Betty had been knitting and she placed her skein of yarn and needles down on the couch next to her. “Doesn’t it embarrass you to go out with me in that dreadful thing?” She pointed to the wheelchair. The caning on the backrest appeared worn, and nicks and scuffs marred its wooden frame.
“No, not at all. When I was in church last weekend, our minister spoke about how sometimes obstacles can be blessings because they teach us humility and gratitude. Do you ever wonder if this happened to teach you something?”
Betty stared at Bill. This wasn’t the first time someone had said something similarly well intentioned to her. “I don’t think I was particularly egotistical or ungrateful before,” she said.